Dial Tone of the Heart
by Spittle is Unclean
Summary: After a tiff with his truest love, Legolas heads off to the forest for a sulk and is captured by a pair of mysterious Gondorians. In the meantime, a finicky and tortured Aragorn plans a beheading.
1. A Kidnapping and a Beheading

Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction for Lord of the Rings. Which means that we didn't make these characters up -- we only mutilated and disfigured their personalities.  
  
When they woke him, the elf was wandering lazily in an unfamiliar land. A thick fog surrounded him and clouded his eyes, but his blindness didn't seem to bother him; the air was filled with heavy perfume, and his breath caught in his slender neck, but he was calm, even content. For what seemed like hours, he simply drifted like this, not caring where he was going or whom he would happen upon. Especially if whomever he happened upon happened to be a certain Mr. Aragorn "Gorny" son of Arathorn. No, siree.   
  
Something urgent seemed to be fighting in the back of his mind to be noticed, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He knew that it was probably about the fight that he and his massive lover had had the week before, and bad memories did not seem favorable to him at that particular juncture. But suddenly, a hulking figure loomed out of the blank whiteness and moved towards him.  
  
Legolas awoke, but not because of his nightmare. Two tall, strange men in beautiful cloaks he recognized as the Gondorian uniforms, had seized him; the blood-red cloaks were all Legolas glimpsed before they lifted him roughly and jammed a crudely-fashioned sack over his grey eyes.  
  
"Help me! Help me, OH!"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Legolas!" Aragorn cried, sitting bold upright. His shiny elf pajamas were soaked in sweat and his dark hair stuck uncomfortably to his face and neck. Even his stubble felt sticky.  
  
Aragorn racked his brain, trying to think of what was wrong. Well, he'd been having a pretty good dream about casting a certain evil ring into a certain fiery chasm (the one from whence it had come), but he knew that he'd been thinking of Legolas, the one whom he loved forbiddenly, when he'd woken up. He wasn't sure, but he thought that maybe he'd had a premonition or something like that.  
  
After all, he thought, he and Legolas were connected. Connected by more than the ties of blood.  
  
They were connected by...love.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Random Gondorian Soldier #1 gave a sigh and tossed the struggling, bag-headed elf to the ground violently. Untying his cloak, he sat back against a tree and watched Legolas squirm unpleasantly on the sharp pointy rocks where he lay.  
  
"You're terribly cruel," Random Gondorian Solider #2 observed.  
  
"I wasn't askin' ye' ef I was cruel, eh!" the first soldier spat, glaring at his companion. "Ef I wanted lip, I'd find meself a feisty bar wench."  
  
The second soldier nodded, but there were tears in his eyes as he watched the elf roll about on the ground.  
  
"Aye."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Aragorn brushed his hair into a jaunty wave and winked saucily at himself in the mirror. Today, premonitions or no, was bound to be excellent. After all, hadn't he declared that Arwen was to be beheaded just yesterday?   
  
Yes. He had. He had indeed.  
  
"Good going, old sport," he informed his reflection while pinning on a gaudy brooch. "Good going indeed."  
  
He was about to head down for a lovely breakfast when the super-elf-magical-telephone rang. Aragorn let it ring three times, because he always let the super-elf-magical-telephone ring three times before answering.  
  
"Hellloooo?" he sang into the phone, hoping it wasn't Gandalf or another one of those bloody solicitors.   
  
"It's Gandalf."  
  
Damn.  
  
"What do you WANT?" Aragorn whined, tossing his head and watching the curls fall nicely back into place. He was so captivated by their ebony glow that he didn't hear what Gandalf said next. "Um...what?"  
  
"I said, Aragorn son of Arathorn, that I was wondering if I might bring Charlie to the beheading today."  
  
"Gandalf. You know a beheading is no place for a young boy."  
  
"Now Aragorn." Gandalf sounded impatient. "Charlie is now in his fourth year of being! He is an intelligent boy, and I trust a little blood will do no harm. Besides, I know he'll be angry later if I don't bring him along to see his favorite uncle, Gorny."  
  
Aragorn blushed deeply and gave a little giggle. "Oh STOP. You know I'd love to have you."  
  
"Excellent, my dear. I shall see you at three then, when the axe falls?"  
  
"Surely. We'll be having a feast afterwards -- Elrond has arranged it."  
  
"Cracking! I hope he's remembered to put hobbit toes on the menu. I was always partial to those. Well, must be off...Charlie's breaking things again. Give my love to Legolas!"   
  
As the phone hung up, Aragorn felt an empty dial tone in his heart.  
  
"I haven't seen Legolas in days..." he whispered into the empty void of the super-elf-magical-telephone.  
  
But no one heard him. Not even the telephone, because telephones don't have ears.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Legolas blinked into the darkness, trying to stop the tears from flowing. His skin was already so irritated from this scratchy bag! If only Gondorians would make their kidnapping gear from more expensive stuff. The cheap bastards, at least they could afford to use good solid Elven twine.  
  
He could hear his two kidnappers conversing in low tones, and from the way their voices were slurring and shifting, they were either both quite drunk or Legolas was going mad. He had some heart palpitations as he thought of what this could mean.  
  
Had Aragorn sent these guards from Gondor?  
  
The tears began to come again, and now he could do nothing to stop them. He had given up struggling long ago, and his body was bashed and bruised from the sharp and pointy rocks he had been rolling around on. But his soul was bashed and bruised even more, torn and bleeding with fear and hope and longing.  
  
"Shet up, ye whimperin' great elf," one of the soldiers growled drunkenly. "Stop yer cryin' or we'll kill ye afore our master even sees ye."  
  
"Now Fergus," the other soldier cried. "That's no thing to tell this kindly elf gentleman, eh?"  
  
But Fergus, whoever he was, only laughed sadistically and spat on Legolas' velveteen-clad leg.  
  
Legolas shivered. Spittle was so unclean and disgusting. Aragorn would never have ordered his guards to spit on a prisoner, no matter the grudge. There was something else going on here, and it was up to Legolas' elf-senses to figure it out.  
  
And, hopefully, Gorny would show up in the meantime, throw the sickly, spat-upon elf over his manly shoulder, and get him out of all this trouble.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Word," Elrond exclaimed as the axe fell with a large clunking noise, and his only daughter's head was severed cleanly from her maidenly form. "Who's up for hobbit toes?"  
  
There were several delighted exclamations from the crowd, the loudest of all from Gandalf, who had a tow-headed boy perched on the brim of his massive hat.   
  
"Dish 'em up, Elrond Half-Elven! Charlie and I are hungry from all this beheading!" he crowed with relish, elbowing Aragorn in a mad dash for the buffet table.  
  
Aragorn scowled after the blundering wizard and then, rubbing his tender side, decided it was about time he sat around on his throne a little. So he did.  
  
"Excellent hobbit toes, lad!" Gandalf was already upon him again, his mouth full of meat. Some flecks of spittle landed on Aragorn's gleaming chest, and the king flinched visibly. God, he hated spittle. If there was one thing he would never, EVER do, no matter the grudge, it would be to inflict spittle on anyone. Spittle was disgusting and unclean, and now he had a large glob of it on his Super Special Reserved For The Fanciest Occasions Armor.   
  
He was about to wipe it off and banish Gandalf from Gondor for a few weeks when a messenger dashed into the middle of the banquet hall, tripped over Arwen's limp torso, and fell to the ground directly before the throne.   
  
"Your highness!" he gasped, jumping up and trying to dust the blood off of his outfit, which was lime green with yellow polka dots. The bloodstains looked terrible on it, Aragorn observed wryly. "Two of our soldiers have gone missing!"  
  
"Is that ALL?" Aragorn felt rage beginning to burn like a violent and desperate animal within him. For just one moment, he had let himself believe that the messenger might come with news of Legolas...but obviously, the sulky elf was still wandering the forests of Mirkwood in a pathetic daze. "Get out of my sight!"  
  
The terrified messenger disposed of, Aragorn turned back to Gandalf, who was on his fourth portion of toes.   
  
"Really ought to try these," Gandalf grinned, covering Aragorn in an extra layer of spittle flecks. "Grilled perfectly! Elrond's got a knack for these things, don't you agree?"  
  
Aragorn felt himself growing a tad queasy. "If you don't mind my asking," he murmured through a wave of nausea, "whose toes are you currently devouring?"  
  
Gandalf picked up a toe and scrutinized it for a moment. "Probably one of the Brandybucks'," he finally decided, popping the toe into his mouth and gnashing at it a few times with his huge teeth. It made a sort of squelchy crunching sound.  
  
This was more than Aragorn could bear. Without another word, he rushed from the banquet hall.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
We hope you enjoyed this first exquisite chapter of "Dial Tone of the Heart." Please review and tell us what your opinions on spittle are. 


	2. Doop Doop, Doop Doop!

Welcome back to "Dial Tone of the Heart." Once again, we'd like to state that this is fanfiction, which is why we are allowed to post it here. And now, to begin.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Aragorn was distinctly distraught as he scrubbed furiously to shine his armor. He was moving the polishing rag so fast that he was beginning to make a hole -- much like the hole that had already formed in the marshmallowy depths of his heart.  
  
"Why," he roared to himself, "does the elf man not return my love?"  
  
Several people were already poking their heads around the windowsill in his chamber, but at this a tall and grey one rose high above the rest.  
  
"Aragorn," called the owner of the head. His voice was thick, and though Aragorn's back was to the window, he imagined the man's mouth was full of poorly-masticated hobbit feet.  
  
"Mrrrr," Aragorn mumbled in reply. He did not stop polishing.  
  
He heard a pair of feet thunk into the room and a plastic picture frame slid off his dresser.  
  
"Gandalf!" Aragorn screamed, wheeling around to face his gnarled companion. "Look what you've done!"  
  
"Very sorry," Gandalf said cheerfully, gazing curiously about the room as Aragorn jumped to rescue his picture frame. It said "Best Friends Forever" around the edges; a polaroid of Aragorn and a tall, stringy-haired man with their arms around each other had been stuck inside.  
  
"The frame -- you've ruined it, Gandalf! And I'll never be able to get another one...it just won't be the same now he's dead." With a sob, Aragorn flung himself onto the bed and burried his face in a ruffled pillow.  
  
Gandalf gave a chuckle and sat down beside the grieving king, hastily swallowing the last chunks of hobbit meat.  
  
"You know," he said heartily over Aragorn's plaintive cries, "you really should get rid of this anyhow. Jolly bad thing to have around the house when you've got someone else in the sack."  
  
At this, Aragorn gave a loud snuffle and sat up, wiping his nose on a fringy fold of Gandalf's large grey garment. "Gandalf, I must tell you something."  
  
"Oh, really? Wonderful that you're calming down, my lad. Have some snuff, won't you?"  
  
The wizard extracted a delicate silver snuff box from deep inside his garment and brandished it jovially at Aragorn, who was now pale with rage. Even the beauty of the snuff box couldn't make up for Gandalf's impudence!  
  
"I'm trying to tell you something important!"  
  
"By Jove, Aragorn, you've been so damn fretful as of late! A good pinch of snuff is just what you need -- it'll put a little man back into you."  
  
When the king did not respond, Gandalf shrugged and began helping himself to a heaping pinch of snuff.  
  
"Won't you just listen?" Aragorn pleaded, shielding his face as Gandalf gave a magnificent sneeze.  
  
"You ought to learn to command people, Aragorn. How do you expect to rule a kingdom when you're so damn ineffectual?"  
  
"Would you shut up?" the king snapped, jumping from the bed and scattering snuff everywhere. "I've been trying to tell you that I haven't any idea where Legolas has gone!"  
  
"Is that all?" Gandalf picked up the picture frame and examined it. "Oh look now, there's nothing but a wee bit of a tiny crack."  
  
"Don't touch that," Aragorn snarled, snatching the picture back. "I should've known you couldn't help me. All you can do properly is spit."  
  
"I resent that," Gandalf said happily, busy with another bit of snuff.  
  
Aragorn tugged at his hair and tore out of the chamber with a groan.  
  
Gandalf stared into space thoughtfully long after Aragorn was gone.  
  
"Conceited ass," he finally said decidedly, extracting from the folds of his cloak a tin full of hobbit toes. "Charlie!" he barked at a young man who had crawled in the window after him. "Get your silly head out of that lingerie basket!"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Miles away, two Gondorian soldiers in the company of a sulky elf pressed onward. The elf had long since given up screaming "Help! Deviants!" and the soldiers' spirits were lightened considerably.  
  
"'Ere, have a bit of bread," said GS#2, who was trying unsuccessfully to make the elf eat. "S'no use, Fergus," he finally said, "he won't eat."  
  
"Blow it out ye' arse, ye bloody idjit," was Fergus' reply.  
  
GS#2 sighed, and Legolas almost took pity on him. Almost.  
  
No one's looked at me in hours, he whined inwardly. I'm sure my hair is in a dreadful tangle.  
  
"Excuse me," he said. He was brought to a sharp stop and almost fell to the ground.  
  
"What dos 'e want, the oaf?" It was Fergus, sounding incensed.  
  
"Pardon me," Legolas said stiffly. "I was hoping to wash my hair."  
  
Fergus began to laugh, a low, snorting chuckle. "Wash ye' 'air! The elf wants to wash 'is 'air, Cornelius!"  
  
"Quite a decent demand, Fergus."  
  
"Decent? I 'aven't washed me 'air in nigh on three months, an' there's nothin' wrong wi' me, eh?"  
  
Legolas thought he might be sick. Even Aragorn had washed his hair more than that -- at least he hoped so.  
  
"Fergus, the sun's low in the sky. If we hurry, we'll be there afore sunset!"  
  
"Well, 'ef this bloody elf weren't such a pansy, we'd be 'ere already."  
  
"If you hadn't put a bag on my head, I should be much more inclined to walk faster," Legolas retorted.  
  
"'E's got sass now, Cornelius. Ye hear what 'e said to me, eh? All this about a bag on 'is head -- don't 'e know 'e's a prisoner?"  
  
"We ought to press on, Fergus." Cornelius' voice was urgent.  
  
I do wish I could see what's happening, Legolas thought with a grumble. The inside of the bag was a very ugly shade of taupe, with some nasty smears that smelled quite alarmingly of old blood.  
  
"Come along now," whispered Cornelius, taking Legolas by the arm. "Don't you want some bread?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Aragorn gave a forlorn sigh and hugged his knees closer to his chest. He had been hiding in the White Tower ever since his confrontation with Gandalf, and now the sky outside was dark. Perhaps Gandalf had taken his snuff and his half-wit boy and gone off to impose on someone else by now.  
  
The sound of drunken laughter and whooping from the streets below convinced Aragorn that this was not the case. The Gondorians were usually a civil, stately people; it was only when Gandalf came to town that things got out of hand. Once, Aragorn would not have minded this sort of behavior. After all, hadn't he adored inns and drunken revelry as much as the next dark wandering traveler? Yes. Yes indeed.  
  
Perhaps Gandalf was right. Perhaps all this kingliness had softened him. Perhaps he shouldn't have let Legolas coax him into thinking that rose really was his scent. Perhaps things would be different if Boromir was still here with him.  
  
The cracked picture frame lay beside him, and Aragorn picked it up now to examine it for the hundredth time that evening. Boromir certainly wasn't into things like hair washing, now that Aragorn thought about it. But Boromir was gone now, gone into the crashing waterfalls, and there was nothing Aragorn could do about it.  
  
It was time he thought about looking for Legolas.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Why hasn't Gorny come for me yet? Legolas thought impatiently as he stumbled along through what felt like a waist-high bed of thistles.  
  
He was certain that he had never felt so miserable in his life. His legs had gone numb and one of assailants (he didn't know which one) had taken to shouting "Looks like he's passed out again, Ferg!" and hoisting Legolas over his shoulder for a while; it was the only rest he ever really had. Legolas made a mental note to tell Aragorn, when he came to save him, to kill the pitying assailant quickly.  
  
No kindliness, no matter how comforting, could make up for the fact that his flaxen hair, knotless (except for an unfortunate incident at one of Gandalf's early Toe-Tasting conventions), now lay under his burlap sack in an embarrassing, fused piece.  
  
"They must be punished," he hissed vehemently in his most sinister voice.  
  
"Eh?" said the closest assailant. "What's that, little buddy?"  
  
"Nothing," Legolas spat sulkily. The kind assailant's constant attention was becoming a nuisance, more noticably so since, after hours on the road, Legolas had begun a swift descent into madness.  
  
His assailant had apparently been satisfied by his reply, because he was becoming distracted by something else.  
  
"You, there!" he was hollering, alarmed.  
  
Legolas would have wondered what all the yelling was about, but he was too busy trying to bring the circulation back into his wrist -- the kindly assailant had been hanging onto it rather tightly.  
  
"Would ye duck down, ye great elf?" someone growled, and the next second, Legolas found himself lying in some very uncomfortable briars. Through the disgusting cloth of the sack that still covered his head, he could vaguely hear the siren call of arrows twanging.  
  
Finally, someone gave a blood-curdling yell, and then Legolas felt himself being pulled violently to his feet.  
  
"Ye best git up an' keep walkin'. D'ye think ye can kip while we're fightin' to protect ye?"  
  
"Now Fergus, you pushed 'im..."  
  
"None o' yer bloody business 'oo I pushed," Fergus replied indignantly, giving Legolas a shove. "Start yer walkin' -- we've near three miles afore we rest tonight."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Have another!" Gandalf roared, sloshing beer down his front. "You'll feel good as new in no time."  
  
"I'm feeling pretty damn marvelous already, Gandalf old boy!" Aragorn bellowed back over a massive tankard of ale. "Wouldn't say no to another drinking game, in fact -- wish we had a few hobbits around!"  
  
"Hobbits? Why, those little fellows can hardly hold their ale next to big'uns like us! Only thing they're any good for is eating, and that's a fact."  
  
Aragorn slid closer to Gandalf and leaned in towards the drunken wizard with a confidential air. "Really now, Gandalf. I'll swear on the shards of Narsil that you've got more of an interest in them than that. I remember those cuddles you were always demanding -- do you think anyone really believed that 'keep an old man warm' line?"  
  
Gandalf gave an explosive laugh, drenching Aragorn in spittle.  
  
"Jolly good times, those were. Have some snuff?"  
  
But Aragorn's face was now white with rage. He glared out at Gandalf from beneath his sopping hair. "How dare you spit upon me?"  
  
Gandalf's smile flickered. "Take it easy, man," he said. "No harm done!"  
  
Aragorn rose quickly and upset his tankard, beer trickling down his lap and into his boots. "No harm? No harm?" he shrieked. "Why, you don't even deserve my anger, you spittle-spewing freak! Why don't you just get the hell out of Gondor and leave me alone with my aching heart?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The sack was torn from Legolas' head violently, and he stumbled and blinked in the bright moonlight. Giving a yelp of joy, he clicked his heels in the air and was instantly struck to the ground by one of his Gondorian guards.  
  
"No noise out o' ye," the guard growled menacingly. "The master says we're ta bring ye right away, ye hear?"  
  
"Wouldn't it be possible for me to wash my hair first?" Legolas asked, fingering his lumpy locks with disgust.  
  
Another guard, standing off to the side, gave a half-hearted shrug and looked at the burly fellow standing over Legolas.  
  
"Cornelius," the burly guard snarled. "Ye're not ta give the pris'ner a thing, ye hear? He's ta go to the master."  
  
"Aye, Fergus." The guard stooped and took Legolas's arm gently. "We'd best be taking you in, sir."  
  
Fergus shot Cornelius a dirty look and stumped over to a large door. Throwing it open roughly, he took a torch from a bracket beside the door and swiftly vanished into the darkness. Cornelius, Legolas on his arm, followed.  
  
The corridor was dark, wet, and smelled terrible. Cornelius' breathing was loud in Legolas' ear, but that didn't bother him nearly as much as the thought of what Aragorn would do if he happened to so much as hear about Legolas on another's arm. Preoccupied with thoughts of rejection and suffering, he didn't notice he had entered a bright hall until he heard someone say his name.  
  
Legolas turned towards the sound, and his eyes suddenly filled with tears.  
  
"Gimli?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A great deal of thanks to our two delightful reviewers, MoroTheWolfGod and Lomelinde. Please continue to review and celebrate the hatred of spittle. 


	3. Your Mom Would Have Done the Same

We're glad you've stuck around for the third chapter of Dial Tone of the Heart, entitled Your Mom Would Have Done The Same. This is a fanfiction.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Legolas, darling, Gimli crooned with a ravenous smile. Legolas could not help but note the lustful look in the dwarf's eyes -- it was terribly unbecoming.  
  
Hello there, Legolas said, shuffling his feet a little and thinking with a plaintive sigh of the shampoo with lavender he had been so silly as to leave in Aragorn's shower. The dirty wretch would never appreciate it. What do you want from me, if you please? I would very much like a nice hot bath and some clean undergarments, and I'm appalled that you haven't offered me any refreshments yet.  
  
Gimli gave a chuckle and his massive fleshy body wiggled happily among his furs and silks. Legolas, after waiting a moment and concluding that his dwarf friend wasn't going to say anything, took the liberty of going on:  
  
And what's more, he said haughtily, you doddering, pukey old fool--  
  
a voice interrupted from behind. A man Legolas recognized as one of his assailants stepped up and placed his hands firmly on the elf's shoulders. I think our prisoner, he boomed in Legolas's ear, must be FRIGHTFULLY tired. Might I show him to his cell, your grace?  
  
The dwarf mumbled gruffly for a moment, quite incomprehensibly, and the Gondorian soldier nodded and began to steer the elf out of the room.  
  
Legolas was confused. Hang ON a tick, he cried, you still haven't told me why the hell you've got me here! Aren't I going to find out your ev--  
  
The soldier, Copernicus if Legolas remembered correctly, hushed him with the back of his hand. Easy does it, he whispered. Steady on.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Are you quite sure you're being rational, my boy? Gandalf wiped his nose delicately and carefully tucked his snuff box back among his robes.  
  
Aragorn grunted, throwing his silk dressing gown into his massive open suitcase. Have you seen my lip gloss anywhere? The flavored one with the green sparkles?  
  
Not a chance, dear boy.  
  
Then I wish you'd do as I asked and get out of Gondor. You're the most aggravating man. And Aragorn gave a little sniff of disgust to emphasize his point.  
  
By the way, in this story, Aragorn is immortal. We plan to never allude to this again, but you'll be glad to know that we are completely ignoring all facts found in the books.  
  
Terribly depressing of you, this banishment from Gondor business, Gandalf was saying as he inspected a glossy photograph of Legolas taken beside the flourishing White Tree of Gondor. The elf seemed to be wearing some sort of tiara. You banished me only two months ago, and it was hell on little Charlie. He's a sensitive lad. This is a disgustingly touristy snapshot you've got here, by the way. Whatever is Legolas wearing on his head?  
  
Aragorn replied.  
  
Gandalf gave him a calculating look. I daresay you're serious this time, old boy. Positively serious.  
  
I AM serious. I am indeed.  
  
Come now, you're never serious. A bloody procrastinator, that's what you are. Took you more than eighty-seven years to get your ass on the throne of Gondor, man!  
  
Aragorn shut his suitcase with a vicious snap. I am going now, he said stiffly, snatching his Best Friends Forever photo frame from the desk and glaring at Gandalf. I don't expect to ever see you again, because when I get home, you will be far away from Gondor.  
  
With that, he tossed his curls and strode brusquely from the room. His suitcase had a bit of trouble getting through the door, and then he was gone.  
  
Gandalf smiled bemusedly to himself and reached into his robes for his snuff. Always knew he was a conceited ass. Well now, Charlie. Looks like Gondor's ours for a few days. Have a pinch of snuff to celebrate, my boy.  
  
Their sneezes echoed happily through the deserted palace.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Legolas stroked his sparkling locks with a neatly manicured hand. Gimli sure knew how to treat a prisoner; the heavenly array of beauty products in Legolas' cell was extraordinary. The elf poured himself a glass of sparkling mead and lay down on his luxurious velvet bed. He was just about to pick up the super-elf-magical-telephone and dial Aragorn when --  
  
Wake up, ye great elf!  
  
Legolas' eyes fluttered open, and he sighed as he felt the cold stone floor beneath his fair, bruised cheek. He put a hand to his hair and winced as he touched the globby, greasy mess with his delicate fingertips.  
  
The door of his cell was thrown open, and the burly Fergus entered, scowling down at the miserable elf. The other one -- WAS it Copernicus? -- shuffled along behind, a large wooden bowl in his arms.  
  
Time for ye' ta eat some breakf'st, Fergus snarled, lifting Legolas up by his collar and leaning him against the wall. Cornelius ere as brought ye' some thin', and then we're ta take ye down ta the master agin. And not a word about bathin', ye hear? I've not bathed since first I joined up with Master Gimli, an' I don't expect to any time soon.  
  
I'm glad to hear that, Legolas replied weakly, staring petulantly at the slop that Cornelius had handed him. It rather resembled Aragorn's dirty bathwater.  
  
Aragorn. How I miss my Gorny, Legolas thought desperately. Why hasn't he saved me yet?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The sun was high overhead by the time Aragorn son of Arathorn awoke.   
  
Damn hangover, he muttered, pouring the contents of his kingly canteen over his head. Spluttering and wet, he shook the lukewarm wine out of his eyes and leaned back to slump against his suitcase.  
  
To his dismay, it was missing. With a cry, Aragorn fell backwards into a pile of thistles and began to sob. Once he had been somebody. Once he had been a Ranger. Now he didn't even have his suitcase. How was he to find Legolas when all he had was his silk dressing gown? Oh. And his sword. Not as though that was important.  
  
I am very, very depressed, he informed the thistles that stabbed angrily at his upper lip.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
When Legolas awoke, he was lying with his feet in the slop bucket.   
  
I must have drifted off again, he said to himself for the benefit of the readers. Shakily, he rose and began to disengage himself from the pail of brown mush, but in another moment there was a heavy knock at his chamber door.   
  
What do you WANT? The last word came out in a long and high-pitched whine. Legolas, without waiting for an answer, began to wring out his sopping clothes.   
  
The voice on the other side of the door was tentative. May Icome in a moment, Mr. Legolas?   
  
I guess I can't stop you, Legolas snapped, peeling off the burlap tunic Gimli had given him to wear and hurling it to the other side of the chamber, so I really have no choice.   
  
There was a fumbling of keys, and it sounded like his visitor dropped them a few times, but finally the wooden door swung open with an excited crash.   
  
Legolas wrinkled his nose. he hissed, narrowing his eyes, it's YOU, Copernicus.   
  
the Gondorian soldier corrected automatically, his eyes misting over a little as he reflected bitterly on the numerous times he had been called Copernicus. He began to whistle idly and look curiously about the room.   
  
The fair-haired elf stood with his soaked trousers in one hand, waiting for his assailant to speak. he said when Cornelius didn't, what is it you WANT?   
  
To his supreme surprise and disgust, Cornelius' eyes filled with large tears.   
  
Dreadfully sorry, Mr. Legolas, he murmured, staring with rapt attention at Legolas' crumpled burlap tunic, which lay in a puddle of vomit in the corner of the cell. Do youwould youI mean to saycould I get you something to wear?   
  
Legolas looked down at the trousers in his hand. They were dripping. he said shortly. These trousers are fine.   
  
said Cornelius.   
  
There was a long and extremely strained silence, during which Legolas put on his trousers.   
  
They then shifted their weight a little and looked at their feet.   
  
This was going nowhere.   
  
Oh screw it, Cornelius thought. If I don't give in to my deepest desires now, there may never be another chance. Who knows what Gimli plans to do with this fair elf?   
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that the elf was picking his nose. This was the moment! Striding forward, a vision of red and gold in his Gondorian uniform, Cornelius embraced the elf with incredible force.   
  
Help! Help me! Legolas screamed. Don't you touch me, you dirty Gondorian!   
  
but I love you, Mr. Legolas, the Gondorian mumbled, looking down at the elf in his arms with considerable surprise in his sparkling eyes.   
  
Legolas looked back at him for a few minutes. Alright then, he finally said. Just this once, I suppose.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Fergus, is there any of that roasted meat left?  
  
The guard looked up from his ale and squinted at his dwarven master. I s'pose so, Master Gimli. Would ye care fer a bit more?  
  
The dwarf shifted among his furs, breathing heavily. he grunted after a moment. Bring me my poetry things.  
  
Receiving a large golden quill and a very pink sparkly sheet of notepaper from Fergus, Gimli leaned back among his cushions. I think I shall write a poem for Legolas, he informed the guard, who had already returned his full attention to his ale. He was not very communicative when you brought him round this morning, was he?  
  
No, Master Gimli, Fergus said from somewhere inside his tankard of ale. On'y talks about bathin', yer highness. Sent Nelius up ta have a li'l chat with im about is behavior round yerself.  
  
That's lovely of you, Ferg, Gimli nibbled anxiously at the edge of his quill. I've got it! He scribbled madly for a few minutes and then observed his poetic ramblings with a happy expression on his bearded face. Ahem. Legolas, my darling./Your hair is like gold./It's really too bad/that you are so cold/to me, your dear Gimli/your beloved friend/who will always adore you/until the very end./Damn you./You put the do not disturb sign on your heart./You ice queen.  
  
Fergus seemed to be slightly unimpressed. In fact, he had passed out under the table.  
  
Gimli snorted. That's what I get for hiring Gondorian deserters. He carefully tucked his poetry things in among his furs and rang for some more roasted meat.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Three pairs of fresh tracks, two with the distinctive sneaker-prints of Gondorian soldiers. The third tracks looked a bit like Legolas' bootprints when he was drunk, but Aragorn couldn't count on it. Bending down and gathering his purple silk dressing gown tighter around himself, he prodded at the broken soil with a nauseated expression. What if there were earthworms or something?  
  
Well, it certainly looked like he was going in the right direction -- as long as he wasn't second guessing himself. He'd always been a little nervous when it came to tracking. Once, after tracing the steps of what looked like a particularly delightful elf youth, he found himself in a den of orcs. Since then, he'd never been able to track with the same confidence.   
  
But anyway, what was it with these Gondorian prints? Aragorn felt so confused he might have broken into sobs again if he hadn't suddenly remembered his court messenger. Thank goodness he'd been wearing such an unflattering outfit; there was no way Aragorn could have remembered him any other way. And he'd said that two Gondorian soldiers were missing?  
  
Grasping a piece of grass between his teeth, Aragorn chewed with beast-like strength. If these prints were the prints of Legolas, no matter how drunken, it was likely that the Gondorian soldiers had captured him.  
  
Actually, it was rather improbable, he added to himself as he gnashed at the end of his piece of grass. And yet, his eyes could not help straying to the sword he wore upon his belt. It was worth a shot, he decided, running off after the footprints.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
We love you, reviewers. Our great thanks to mrslegolaselfsexee, **Michelle**, churchgurl, Melody, MoroTheWolfGod, Mbwun, churchgurl101, and abby. We would love to accept abby's offer of marriage, and hope you will continue to read and review. The story will be ending next chapter -- stick around for the explosive ending of Dial Tone of the Heart!  



	4. At Last Telephones Have Ears

You've stuck around with us, and now you're about to see it pay off in the final episode of Dial Tone of the Heart, entitled At Last Telephones Have Ears.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Legolas gazed at the tousled head below him and flicked the end of his cigarette decidedly onto it.  
  
murmured Cornelius sleepily; he turned over and ash spilled into his eyes, but he didn't seem to notice.  
  
The elf prince made a displeased noise and kneed Cornelius hard in the ribs.  
  
murmured Cornelius sleepily.  
  
Tossing the butt of his cigarette into Cornelius' hair, Legolas rose and stretched with incredible grace. As he lifted his arm, however, his hand brushed his hair and he froze, eyes wide.  
  
he hissed at the sleeping assailant. Wake up.  
  
murmured Cornelius sleepily.  
  
the elf snapped. I _need_ to wash my hair. Right. Now.  
  
He was about to direct a sharp and painful kick at Cornelius' horizontal figure when his elven ears caught the distinctly jarring sound of keys in the lock.  
  
Ye in there, ye great elf? It was Fergus. Master's come up ta see ye. Are ye decent?  
  
Legolas felt his throat going strangely dry; he looked over at Cornelius, who was sitting up on his Gondorian cloak with a panicked expression in his sparkling eyes.  
  
Legolas called back. I...no. No, I'm not decent at all. Would you mind coming back once I've had a bubble bath?  
V'ry funny, bellowed Fergus, kicking the door in.  
  
By the Valar! screamed Cornelius, staring at his leg, which had just been severed from his soldierly form by the door.  
  
Fergus cried, falling to the floor beside his nude companion, who was rapidly losing blood. Nelius! Yer...yer bleedin',   
  
I know I'm bleeding, Cornelius winced, trying to wrap himself in his Gondorian cloak, which was sopping wet with dark blood. Would you mind getting your knee off the stump? he gasped out.  
  
And then he was dead.  
  
Nelius! Nooooooooooooooo! the burly soldier buried his face in Cornelius' ashy locks. Ow kin it be? When I...when I ne'er had the chance ta tell ye ow much I care? Pulling his dagger from his belt, Fergus kissed Cornelius gently upon the nose. Soon, I will be wi' ye forever, my With that, he stabbed himself and was dead as well.  
  
Gimli surveyed the scene from the door as Legolas tried to pull his tunic over his head.   
  
Never should have hired Gondorians, the dwarf grunted after a moment. Too high strung, I always say.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I wish I were dead, Aragorn muttered viciously under his breath as he waded through a stinking swamp, his silken robe damp with greenish scum.  
  
Up above, a vulture was circling. It had been circling for a few hours now, squawking madly at the poor king as he trudged along.  
  
Go screw yourself! he yelled up at the decrepit bird.  
  
He continued onward.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The voice on the end of the super-elf-magical-telephone was thin and weak, strained with tears of pain and sorrow. How can we help you at the Shire Center for Hobbit Amputees?  
  
Frodo, my lad! Is that you? Gandalf boomed into the phone, helping himself to some leftover toes from the Gondorian kitchen fridge.  
  
Frodo's voice was quavering. What do you want from us? Leave us alone! He was becoming hysterical.  
  
What's the matter, dear boy? Gandalf smiled, popping a toe into his mouth.  
  
What's the matter? The _matter_? You've put me in a wheelchair! Crippled me for life! You've torn my life from me along with my toes! No more do I run through the lush fields of the Shire! No! Now I must tend the broken, toeless feet of other hobbits like me -- hobbits whose lives have been ruined by _you_!  
  
Gandalf chewed thoughtfully. I don't suppose you've any interest in coming to my party, then?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It had been two hours since the hormonal Gondorian soldiers had taken their final gasping breaths, and Legolas stood now before Gimli son of Gloin in his capacious ping-pong room. Like this story's legions of fans, the elf prince was hoping to have some things explained to him.  
  
boomed Gimli, wiggling excitedly as he struck his ball with vigor. You want to know why I brought you here, eh?  
  
Legolas ducked and straightened, beginning to lose his patience.  
  
Gimli launched another ball at his visitor's head before he continued. Hoping that this abysmal plot will pick itself up and the story will get a little bit more interesting, are you?  
  
Legolas, ducking again, admitted that this was the case.  
  
And don't forget about this, he said after straightening up, gesturing to his mop of soiled hair so that his shackles jingled merrily. My once silky, flaxen locks now rest in many a jagged nest atop my head.  
  
The dwarf chuckled heartily. he cried. Then, after a moment, Do you really want to know why you're here?  
  
Legolas, straightening up after the last ping-pong attack, said rather haughtily that he didn't think that the question was worth dignifying with an answer.  
  
You always thought you were special, didn't you? Gimli's eyes had narrowed dangerously, and he aimed his ping-pong balls with considerable force. Always smirking about you and your precious _Gorny_, wasn't that it?  
  
Legolas, pulling the ping-pong ball out of his ear, shrugged.  
  
Well, I brought you here to put a stop to that forever! the dwarf shrieked, grabbing a zipper in his side and stepping out of the large fleshy skin to reveal...  
  
Legolas squeaked, aghast.  
  
Step away from my man! Aragorn roared, leaping through the door and drawing his sword. Step away _right now_!  
  
Without actually waiting for an answer, he smote Haldir down with one powerful blow. Breathing heavily, the king stared at the headless elf, lying among the folds of the Gimli suit. Then, wiping his dirty hair from his eyes, he approached Legolas with a rascally grin.  
  
How are you, darling?  
  
But Legolas shrank against the wall in terror. What _is_ that filthy thing you're wearing?  
  
It's no filthier than your hair! Aragorn spat back, feeling slightly wounded. He had expected Legolas to run right into his kingly arms and demand to be ravished immediately. Why don't you walk home to Gondor by yourself, if you've got such a problem with what I'm wearing?  
  
Legolas sneered, swerving his head about saucily. Unfortunately, his hair wouldn't quite flip the way he wanted it to. I need a bath, Gorny, he cried suddenly, bursting into tears.  
  
Aragorn strode forward and clasped the elf to his bosom. Do not worry, my love, he crooned. You will have all the baths you can handle back in Gondor.  
  
Oh, thank you, Gorny son of Thorny! Oh thank you so!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I'm sure you'll be happy here, Charlie my lad, Gandalf grinned, patting the youth on the shoulder with a paternal air. Elrond, I'll be over to see him again soon.  
  
And with that, the grey and ragged wizard strode off, leaving his sobbing son clinging to the robes of Elrond Half-Elven.  
  
There, there, Elrond murmured, You'll meet a lot of new friends here at the Lord Elrond Center For Snuff Addiction.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Legolas smiled in adoration at the rows of beauty products adorning the walls of his pink and gold tiled bathroom. I'm glad we got back to Gondor safely, he reflected gratefully as he powered his nose with joy. Prancing excitedly towards the tub, he eagerly twisted the hot water tap and watched the refreshing liquid bubble and steam. A small sob caught in his throat at the sheer beauty of it all.  
  
With a delicate bound, he leapt into the boiling bath. One cry of anguish, and then the elf expired, his innards roasted to perfection. Silently, his clumpy hair waved gracefully around his peaceful face. Peaceful forever more.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Charlie lay listlessly in a mud puddle, his eyes glazed over with the pain of withdrawal. On the other side of the courtyard, Lord Elrond was leading the rest of Charlie's Addiction Center Friends in a cheerfully charming rendition of If You're Happy And You Know It, You Don't Need Snuff.  
  
Charlie groaned and rolled over. As he flopped desolately onto his other side, a swinging unlatched gate caught his eye. His mind filled with visions of Gandalf's silver snuffbox.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Hair like...like the most ribbony silk of the stars...  
  
Aragorn bit his lip thoughtfully and looked up towards the blue skies of Gondor for inspiration. He had meant to write Legolas a poem to read him that evening at the welcome home festivities, but for some reason, the words would not come.  
  
Lips like two...glowing hobbit sausages! he crowed triumphantly, stopping to jot down his poetic genius before it deserted him once more. Eyelashes like the glistening tears of a small, small boy. A very small boy.   
  
No. It was no good. No good at all. He wept brokenly into his hands. How I wish an avalanche would strike me down this instant, in the midst of my poetic grief and sorrow! he wailed to the winds, flinging himself onto a rock and clawing sadly at his hair.  
  
Up above, a tiny figure staggered across the mountain peaks, driven by a single need. Tripping over a root, Charlie fell flat against a massive boulder, which commenced to roll down the hill. Other rocks followed, and in moments, an avalanche had formed.  
  
Aragorn son of Arathorn glanced up at the sound of roaring rock, but it was too late. Sweet merciful Valar! he shrieked as the rocks covered him forever in a rubbly grave.  
  
Charlie whispered, inching onward.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Gandalf was positively trembling with barely-contained excitement.  
  
he chanted merrily eyeing Brandy Hall from behind his usual bush. Brandybuck, Brandybuck! Brandybuck toes tonight!  
  
said a grave voice from behind him. Brandybuck toes indeed!  
  
Gandalf swiveled quickly. He was going to say something about horning in on another fellow's brunch when he saw who the speaker was.  
  
he cried jovially. Well, I suppose it's alright if it's just -- aaagh.  
  
Merry grinned with much malice as a horde of angry, toeless hobbits came charging over the hill, Frodo Baggins at the head of them.  
  
You are _so_ dead, Gandalf! he snarled with much ferocity.  
  
Gandalf sighed. Here we go again, he said, eyes twinkling, and withdrew his snuffbox.  
  
But in another moment, the hobbits were upon him.  
  
His silver snuffbox clattered slowly to the ground, snuff blossoming from it like glittering tears of angels.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
That night, the White Tower was ablaze with light and music. Hobbits swung happily from the chandeliers, their toeless feet paddling the air. A rather sloshed Frodo Baggins was banging excitedly on an oaken table with his jug of ale, eyes sparkling with undisguised emotion.   
  
Climbing up onto the table, the hobbit surveyed the delighted crowd. My dear hobbits, he cried to their spectacular applause. A new day has come for us! I have seen it just now in the downfall of Gandalf, the cooking of his toes! I have seen toeless hobbit children laugh again as they have not laughed since their toes were taken from them! I have seen beauty in the world!  
  
He paused to sample some of Gandalf's toes, which had just been set on the banquet table beside the Pudding of Legolas.  
  
My friends, Frodo continued through his mouthful of meat. My friends, I know what is true. The emptiness we have felt in these last few months of heartless persecution -- all that has vanished. I can freely say to you now that the dial tone is gone from my heart!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Thank you, MoroTheWolfGod and Samamillion, for being the only reviewers to comment on our previous section (we're afraid we'll have to accept Samamillion's proposal, Abby). With the eventful ending of this story, we hope you will once again be here in droves to extol our majestic storytelling talents.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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